


Watch the Stars

by bluephoenix1347



Series: The Writer and the Wolf [2]
Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/M, Idiots in Love, Light Angst, Lyrium Withdrawal, Romantic Fluff, Stargazing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-19
Updated: 2019-12-19
Packaged: 2021-02-26 01:01:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 948
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21854923
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bluephoenix1347/pseuds/bluephoenix1347
Summary: Freya and Cullen have a tradition, a routine--they eat dinner together. They talk, they laugh, they get to be themselves, just for a little while. Unfortunately, sometimes things get in the way.
Relationships: Female Inquisitor/Cullen Rutherford, Female Lavellan/Cullen Rutherford
Series: The Writer and the Wolf [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1164254
Comments: 2
Kudos: 13





	Watch the Stars

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to RileySFS for some extremely helpful beta reading.

The Inquisitor always went to see her Commander at noon, when the sun was highest in the sky. It was like clockwork; walking from the tavern with a tray of food braced against her hip, turning right, up the stairs, through the battlements until she found herself in his tower.

Today was no different, at least to Freya’s knowledge; Cullen would be working, fingers nearly as stained with ink as her writer’s hands, poring over some reports or maps or some such. He’d be tired, he wouldn’t know what time it was, and would most likely be starving, hence the platter of food Freya carried. To be honest, she was hungry, too, and what better way to spend an evening than dining with Cullen while talking over Inquisition-related matters—and decidedly _not_ Inquisition-related matters. 

The door to Cullen’s tower was shut tight when Freya reached it, knocking a few times in a practiced rhythm to let him know it was her.

No answer.

Freya frowned, shifted a little, and tried the knock again. This time, a small noise came through the wood, and it sounded like—well, it sounded like _sobs._

_Oh, no._

Freya set the tray on the ground and fumbled with the doorknob for a moment, hands shaking in her haste to enter the tower. She slipped inside and closed the door behind her.

“Cullen?” she called. She couldn’t see him, which meant he was either in his loft or— 

“Here,” a ragged voice sounded from behind the desk. 

Freya sprinted across the office, skidding to her knees next to the chair, which was stacked with books and papers. Cullen was curled up in a ball, tears streaming down his cheeks, hair mussed and bags under his reddened eyes. When was the last time he had slept? Or eaten? He was barefoot, wearing only trousers and an undershirt tucked in halfway, as if he had tried to take it off but didn’t have the strength. A hand placed on his arm confirmed her suspicions—he was running a very high fever. 

“Let’s get you to bed,” she told him softly. “Do you think you can get up the ladder?”

He shook his head. 

Freya cleared off the books on the chair and hoisted him into it, noticing _just_ how much he was shaking when she touched him.

“You don’t have to do this,” he said when she’d eased him into what passed for a comfortable position. 

“But I want to,” she responded. “I don’t want you to be alone right now.” And then, softer, she added, “And I don’t think you want that, either.”

Cullen’s eyes turned soft as he focused on her face, and he managed to squeeze her hand where it laid in his. “You’re right. I don’t.”

Freya spent hours soothing his pains with ice magic, retrieving the platter of food from outside and forcing him to drink some tea to stay hydrated. He watched her eat with tired eyes, listening to her tell him soothing stories to distract him from the pain. When his fever came down and he felt like he could stand, Freya spotted him up the ladder and tucked him into bed. She gathered one of the elfroot potions from his nightstand and gently tipped his head forward so he could drink it. Then she yawned and rubbed sleep from her eyes with the back of her hand.

“Are you tired?” Cullen asked.

“I’m fine,” Freya laughed. “You, on the other hand—you need rest.”

“So do you,” Cullen said. “You may be the Inquisitor, but you’re not invincible.”

She gave him a pointed look. “Says the man who barely lets me force him to take his healing draught every night.”

Cullen sighed, looking away. “I . . . suppose I’m not the best person to be lecturing you on taking care of yourself.”

A hum. “You’re not. I will, however, listen to you, if only to keep you in bed.” She placed the empty potion bottle on the nightstand, then moved around to her side of the bed.

“What are you doing?” Cullen asked. 

Freya flopped down next to him, scooching up to his side and laughing. “Relaxing!” she said. 

They wiggled around until they were lying next to each other on their backs, arms pressed together and the covers pulled up over them. When he reached for her hand, she immediately twined their fingers together, then settled down to look up through the hole in the roof. 

“It’s nighttime,” Freya whispered. 

Cullen chuckled. “You didn’t know?” 

“I hadn’t thought about it.” A long, comfortable silence settled between them. “You can see the stars. Do you know any constellations?”

“Not anymore, I’m afraid,” he said. “I’m not even sure I knew them in the first place. We learned about a few when I was training to become a templar, but I must admit my mind wandered, no matter how hard I tried to be the best initiate there.” He glanced at her. “Was this a test?”

She laughed. “No. I know a few, but I doubt they’re the same ones you learned, as they’re based on the elven gods. I don’t think you have to know any, though, to enjoy a clear night sky. It’s beautiful.”

“Yes, it is.” 

She glanced at him; he was looking at her. She gave his shoulder a playful shove. “Silly goose. Watch the _stars.”_

He smiled, chuckled, kissed her forehead. “All right.”

As Freya began mapping out the constellations above them and regaling him with their tales, Cullen was sure of one thing: even with all the different versions of constellations in the world, the only stars that mattered were the stars in her eyes.


End file.
